Hard Falling - BajanCanadianOC
by thy merome ship
Summary: I didn't like change, and this was all new to me. I hated it, and I hated him, so much more than I hated myself. I hated how he thought he could get to me, how he thought my mind worked differently from everyone elses. I hated how he liked me, and I was starting to like him, until it got to the point that we both liked each other enough for me to admit how much I hated him.


**Hard Falling  
>Prologue<strong>

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><p>Fear. It's the one emotion nobody can really escape, the one shred of doubt that will leave you tip toeing around everything even <em>remotely <em>scary that you encounter in your life. It deceives you, pulls you back from what you want to do and achieve and strive best for. The one thing that tells you that you can't, even when you know yourself that it's completely possible, yet fear is what makes you doubt yourself. Fear makes you make mistakes. It paralyzes you, brainwashes you, does everything negative to your body and mind.

I froze. They died. _That_ was my mistake.

And I'm sorry, to everyone, that I can't turn back time. And I'm terrified of what the future holds, for me and for the people I've met and lost along the way. If it were possible, I would go back. I would jump out of the phase I was in, I would help, and then maybe everything wouldn't be so bad. But unfortunately, that's not possible.

I blamed myself for their death for years. 14 years I grew up with them. 14 years they looked after me, watched over me like two frightful eagles. I took them for granted, resented their help, pushed them away. Then I lost them, and how I wish I could go back and relive every moment I had with them.

It's been 5 years since they died. Five years ago, I was 14, pissed off with the world and angry at everything around me. At 14, I didn't know what it felt like to lose someone, to have their presence knocked out of existence. I miss them, but I can't say that. That's too easy to say.

I locked myself in my room for hours. After the incident, the police took me in for questioning, and I must have looked a mess. I didn't bother trying to co-operate with them. I was a flash of tears and regret, my hoodie pulled over my head and a blanket from God-knows-where wrapped around me. One of the police officers tried to coax a hot chocolate into my hand, which I shakily refused. They asked me basic questions. Who were they? Answered. What were we doing? Answered. Do I have any siblings? No answer. What was my name? Answered.

The police officers thought I did it, or was apart of it. They searched me for any weapons, coming up short and stupid. They sent me to Montreal, where I had to live with one of my distant family members.

I blamed myself for everything that went wrong in my life after that. I grew out of my hatred phase, matured a little bit more, stopped seeing the world as a big ball of furious anger opportunities. Even by doing that, however, I still hated myself. Deep down inside, I knew I wasn't happy, no matter how many nights I went out and got wasted. I never let anyone in. I was open to people, but I wouldn't tell them what was really going on. I was always closed off from society, and that's how I wanted it to be.

Then he came along. It's hard to describe, really, the feeling of a new person entering my life. It's not like I intended him to. He wedged himself into my pathetic excuse of a life, wriggling into the cracks and _staying _there, comfortable in that position, whilst I tried all I could to shove him out of sight and mind. I didn't like change, and this was all new to me. I hated it, and I hated him, so much more than I hated myself. I hated how he thought he could get to me, how he thought my mind worked differently from everyone elses. I hated how he liked me, and I was starting to like him, until it got to the point that we both liked each other enough for me to admit how much I hated him. I also hated how he laughed at me, and how I laughed with him. I tried to push him away, to give him excuses in order to leave me alone, but he kept on pressing forward. I put a distance between the both of us.

It didn't work. No matter what I did, he was always there. To catch me when I fell, to turn on the light when I was ambling through blissful darkness. He was gentle, knew how fragile I was even if I didn't know it myself. And that's what made me fall for him. Hard.

My name is Lynn Davenport. And this is the story of how I fell for Mitch Hughes.

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><p><strong>End Of Prologue<strong>


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